


Grief

by Talvi (inn_havi)



Series: Stories of Thedas [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inn_havi/pseuds/Talvi
Summary: Stories of Thedas writing challenge day 14/31
Series: Stories of Thedas [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086773
Kudos: 5





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Stories of Thedas writing challenge day 14/31

The air was still. As still as it could be in the grassy fields of Ostwick-the wood of the Trevelyan estate unusually quiet in comparison to the normal groans that came with the normal windy days. After a week’s worth of rain the air was left with a sticky aftertaste and the sky remained dotted with white streaks of clouds. It was peaceful, sure, but the quietness hung over the residents of the home like a wet blanket. For most of them, anyways.

For the Lady of the estate, it was close to business as usual. She handled the financials of the home, kept correspondence with family, and did all duties under a strict self-appointed time frame. Her only time to break away from it all was joining her youngest in a meal at midday, instead of the usual group-meals that the family normally participated in.

Lady Trevelyan, you see, loved her youngest son more than anything in the world. And seeing the bandages on his face that hid burn scars from the world tore her heart into pieces that couldn’t be mended together. But his sweet smile caused her lips to turn upwards in the corners, and she could put herself past how she felt for at least a little bit. Until he began to ask questions.

“Maman,” he would start. “ _ When will Juliette come see me? _ ” He would ask this in High Tongue, as was requested for all Trevelyan children to learn along with Common and Ancient-as requested by the Lady of Orlesian background.

Her smile would flip into a sour frown, and her eyes would grow cold as they darted to the side to avoid contact. That little brat who hurt her baby. Something needed to be done to keep him from asking questions. Just… “ _ She’s ill, cherie. So you can’t see her _ .” This was a lie, of course, for the only daughter of the Trevelyan family had been whisked away to The Circle by the Bann a week prior. But this boy didn’t understand that-and he wouldn’t.

The Trevelyan family, if you care to know, has no tolerance for mages. They are a strong family who sends at least one child to the Templars, one to the Chantry, and marries the others off for keeping the bloodline strong. As far as the world was to be concerned, the new-found mage-who was only a child-was to be expunged from the world.

But how would one complete this when the oldest in the home had been there when the girl discovered her cursed abilities? The little Lord, only aged fourteen, had locked himself in his room without a peep. Even the Elven servants who he normally enjoyed spending time with couldn’t get him out of the darkness for a proper meal or a night playing Wicked Grace. Elias often found himself laying on his bed, his dark hair that had begun to grow out beginning to tangle and lay flat on his face. The Lady of the house hadn’t even so-much as stopped by unless it was to tell him to act like a Lord and continue on with life-that the lack of the girl’s presence wasn’t enough to keep him from functioning as normal.

Elias, in an attempt to get himself to do something at the pleads of one of the servants, was sitting on his bed with a window to the courtyard cracked open the slightest amount to bring in to allow him to see. With his lute in hand, he strummed a pathetic chord in A-minor. How original. It didn’t feel right to be fiddling with an instrument when all he wanted to do was go find his baby sister. She was probably terrified and alone. He didn’t know much about The Circle but he didn’t like the sound of mages-no matter their ages-being locked up like prisoners who had broken some kind of Chantry law. He didn’t remember simply living being a sin mentioned during any mass they had attended. If they were to take a child then why not take him? Or anyone else for that matter?

His thoughts were interrupted at the push of his bedroom door. He didn’t recall hearing a knock, but it was possible that he was too out of it to even notice if there were to be one. His dark eyes met with the figure of his mother standing in the doorway, the prim-and-proper woman standing tall.

“Oui, mere?” Elias spoke with a voice that was hoarse even after an attempt to clear his throat.

“ _ The tailor is coming in an hour. Be ready. _ ” She spoke with a firm voice, leaving Elias to sit in confusion as he processed the odd sentence. The last time he heard that was right before his coming-of-age ball two years prior.

“Mere?” He called out, setting down his lute against the wall and pushing himself off the bed to cross the room and peek into the hallway where his mother was making her way down. The architecture of the estate was open hallways where the wind could blow through and provide a cool environment to live in. But with no wind to push the air around, the open hallways were simply a place for the stickiness to sit in place until the breeze decided it was time to move again. Whenever that would be.

Lady Trevelyan turned and looked down at the boy. The two shared many facial features including their dark hair, fair skin, and dark upturned eyes. She didn’t mind that the boy took after her, but his personality was the most unlike hers-and that’s what she found to be an annoyance. “ _ Spit it out, Emil. What is it? _ ” Ah yes, the use of his traditional name within the family. He hated how it sounded, but he knew she didn’t care.

Elias stammered on a “je” for a second before getting his question out. “ _ Why is the tailor coming _ ?” He looked and sounded emotionally exhausted, his eyes now more obviously swollen from crying in his room and from a lack of sleep.

“ _ For a funeral. Tomorrow. Be ready _ .” She began to turn away from him, her skirt twilling at her calves as she stopped when Elias asked another question:

“ _ Whose funeral? Is Hilmir alright _ ?” He wasn’t very close to his elder brother, as he had been off to train with the Templars since the day after his coming-of-age ball, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t worry about his safety at all.

Lady Trevelyan sighed in annoyance, feeling a headache come about. “ _ Freja’s. Be ready. _ ”

He did not just hear that. Juliette’s traditional name-Freja-was one that hardly crossed his mother’s lips, and he couldn’t believe that this was the context he was hearing it in. He stood there for a moment, sweating from the humidity that was finally getting a soft push through the hall-but the sweating in his palms that forced his skin to stick together as he curled his fingers together was from his own anxiousness that overflowed him. Was this real? She was at The Circle. Did something happen?

Somehow, Elias found himself standing in front of Bann Trevelyan’s study door. Should he even bother him? He needed to know if his baby sister was alright. With a stiff arm, he brought his fist to the wooden door, whose paint was fading due to the sunlight that creeped in from the opening at the end of the hallway, and gave a soft rapping. His hand then dropped and hung by his thigh, only moving again to open the door once permission was granted.

“Ah, Elmir.” Bann Trevelyan looked up from his desk where papers had been neatly organized by some kind of system that Elias couldn’t decipher. But that wasn’t quite important.

“Faðir.” Ancient Tongue was now in use. Really, Elias could’ve used Common Tongue if he so desired, but it felt odd. He only ever used it with those who were  _ of _ the Trevelyan family, but those who  _ were _ Trevelyan mostly used Ancient unless it was their mother’s side of the family. But that was beside the point. “ _ Is it true there’s a funeral for Freja tomorrow? _ ” He was expecting his father, who was a kind and patient man, to chuckle and correct him-to tell him that there was no such thing and that all was well.

But the man had found it difficult to process the reduced number of residents at his estate. The man and the one daughter looked very similar-for without the streaks of grey in it, their hair was the same auburn that showed red in the light, a dusting of freckles over their eyes, and the same forest green eyes that were gentle and kind. His normal kind demeanor was replaced by a form of pity, although it was unclear who it was for. “Elmir…”

“ _ What happened? _ ” Elias finally fully stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, making his way to the desk in the center of the room. “ _ Where is my sister?! _ ”

“Elmir!” His father raised his voice, putting a hand up. “ _ You will not use that tone with me, young man. _ ” He lowered his hand and took a breath. “ _ Your sister-as far as you’re to be concerned-is no longer of this world. Andraste has helped her cross to The Maker _ .”

“Nei…” Elias’ voice was much softer now, the boy looking in his father’s eyes. “ _ But she’s in The Circle- _ ”

“ _ A girl named Juliette is in The Circle, _ ” Bann Trevelyan corrected him. “ _ But Freja Trevelyan fell very ill last week and has been greeted by Andraste. Do you understand? _ ” The man was easy to read when you studied his eyes-for they were filled with pain and grief. But his voice and overall demeanor was firm and professional.

Honestly, Elias didn’t understand, but he wasn’t expecting any other response or more clarification from anyone. He excused himself and exited the study. When the tailor came, he noticed that the sky was beginning to cloud again and the groaning of the wood against the wind was returning.

He hated how he looked in all black. It was depressing. He hated that this was happening. He hated the confused face on his baby brother as he struggled to comprehend why they were trying on clothes like that. He had never been to a funeral, and Elias would’ve preferred to keep it that way. He didn’t like funerals and he couldn’t expect a five-year-old to either.

The clouds had made their way to block any sight of the sky overnight, and by sunrise there were already large drops of rain pelting the side of the estate and muddying up the ground around the building and inside the open courtyard. The wood that separated hallways from the courtyard darkened as they soaked up the moisture of neighboring puddles and fallen raindrops.

Elias didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to shut his eyes and, in turn, shut himself out from the world. His head was throbbing from the rain and the low growls of thunder echoing in the mountains of Ostwick, and the drop in temperatures forced a shiver through his body as he finally pushed the quilts off of himself. The servants soon knocked and entered the room with a light breakfast and to help him into the black clothes. Because of the rain, he would need to wear a black cloak over his head, as they explained. He didn’t answer verbally but instead gave a small nod. The servants looked at him with pity. Maker, stop.

The family joined each other at the front of the estate, Elias beginning to take his baby brother’s hand before Lady Trevelyan snatched the youngest from him and carried him. It would be a long walk. About thirty minutes, to be exact, from the estate down to Ostwick’s chantry. Bells began to toll, and people who were already out and about paused to watch the passing family donning their black clothes. If word hadn’t gotten out about the funeral already, it was about to spread over the entire town within a matter of hours.

The mass was odd. It was only them, for one, and the quietness of all members of the family made it hard to speak up to repeat the words of the Revered Mother. The closed wooden coffin that sat beneath Andraste felt wrong to look at. Maybe this wasn’t actually happening and it was a messed up dream. At this point, it felt more like one than real life. A quick bit of the lip. Pain. Elias wasn’t dreaming, and that forced his stomach into an odd twist. A quick flash of lightning for dramatic effect.

The Revered Mother gave her final blessings before asking the Bann to rise and light a candle for the departed. That shouldn’t have been happening, Elias thought. She was alive and deserved to be treated as such. Wasn’t this just bad luck on the family’s end? Wouldn’t this come back to bite them in the butt? Surely it would.

All were to rise. Elias and the Bann were to take either side of the coffin and lift it up to follow the Revered Mother out the back doors of the Chantry to an open courtyard similar to one found at the Trevelyan Estate. A cover had been put up over a pyre, and the coffin was set down gently on top. Letting go of it wasn’t something Elias wanted to do, and he could tell that his father was feeling the same way-although he wouldn’t ever say it. Part of being the head of the family meant that you acted as a proper role model-and that included not showing weakness. And that was stupid.

The flames that danced around inside the pile of wood forced the coffin to crack and creak as the wood began to bow and snap. Fire. Flames. That’s what started all of this. Elias was in physical pain at this point. His stomach was still twisted, and his head was being stabbed from the inside more than a persistent throbbing. His eyes were sore and his jaw became stiff from the constant gritting of his teeth.

“May Andraste guide this soul to His side…” The voice of the Revered Mother was barely hitting Elias’ ears. Gather the ashes once the coffin had been burned. How long did it even take? He couldn’t remember. Put the ashes in the urn. Mother was to carry them back to the estate, and Elias was to bury them in the ground in the field outside where the ashes of dozens of Trevelyans lay. This wasn’t right. Again, a dream? The cold of the rain was probably too much of a realization that he wasn’t dreaming. The shovel was thrown to the ground by the new earth mound, and the boy stood and stared at the dirt. This was real. And he hated it.


End file.
